


Hangovers Part 2

by TheArtOfBlossoming



Series: Vincent, Redefined [9]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 76
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24403912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtOfBlossoming/pseuds/TheArtOfBlossoming
Summary: It's a special day for Ricky and he intends to enjoy it. Unfortunately, it is also a day where he has an important job to do that will take him away from his new girlfriend.
Relationships: Ricky Gee and Commander DaGuerre, Vault Dweller and Ally
Series: Vincent, Redefined [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/566194
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	1. Rock 'n' Roll 'n' Robots

Ricky Gee was woken by a tinny party horn noise emanating from his PIP boy. He forced sticky eyelids open from beneath knitted brows to peer at the green display. 

*6am, May 26th, 2103 Happy [38th] Birthday, [Ricky Gee]. Many Happy Returns from Vault-Tec!*

The mound beneath the Unstoppables bedsheets beside him shifted and groaned.

"Wha' wazzat?" Sofia's mouth wasn't working properly yet. They'd only been sleeping together for just over a week but Ricky had already started teasing her that she 'took a while to load' in the morning. Having been an unwilling guinea pig in an experiment linking computers to human consciousness, this did not, at first, go down too well. After a day of panicked atonement via pampering, she'd forgiven him and seen the funny side.

"Looks like it's my birthday," Ricky smirked as he pulled the cover down just enough to reveal Sofia's face.

"Your…your birthday? You never…I didn't get you anything!" Sofia, propped up on an elbow now, wiped dribble off her cheek with the back of her hand Her hair was loose from its usual low bun, a lock of which stuck up in a shaggy loop at the back. Ricky's smirk turned into a genuine, warm smile.

"Now why would I need anythin' else?"

"You charmer." Sofia idly traced the winged spark plug tattoo on his left arm. "Still, let me work on it. Breakfast in bed?"

"I could dig that."

"Yeah, you can dig it," she said, one eyebrow signalling mischief. "I've seen the way you eat…like you've got a shovel!"

She dodged an airborne pillow and slinked through the door in nothing but a clean white t-shirt. Ricky watched until she disappeared, then something prompted him to look at his PIP-boy again. His smile vanished. Well, he wasn't going to miss out on a lazy morning just because he had to meet up with Sergeant Radcliff at the Robco building. 

The radio in the parlour started up; Commander Daguerre had flicked it on as she went past. She and Ricky shared a love of music, even if nobody was 'baking biscuits' anymore. The old tunes were good tunes, they didn't get tired of hearing them. Sometimes though, Ricky would pick up his beloved guitar and play something half-remembered, or strum up something entirely new.

The scent of mirelurk eggs, opposom bacon and coffee drifted upstairs. Ricky took off his PIP boy entirely and stashed it. He rubbed his wrist and pulled on some shorts. Using the window panes as a mirror, he smoothed a few stray hairs.

"Gotta get a real mirror," he muttered to himself as he made a mental note to do his hair properly after food and to go under the bridge to get beeswax to make more pomade.

Sofia padded upstairs, singing along to 'A Good Man Is Hard To Find' and adding 'but he found me!' at the end. 

Ricky sat up as she placed the tray, their breakfast bridging the two small beds placed snugly against one another. 

"Happy Birthday, my love," she smiled. 

* * *  
Empty plates sat stacked in the kitchen sink. The sounds of steel guitar and hesitant double bass sounded from the veranda. Colonel Custard, the Collectron, trundled by muttering something about 'solid mold'. The rhythmic 'cha-guh-chug, cha-guh-chug' of the auto-miner lent a soothing background rhythm to the melody.

Ricky played the last notes with a flourish.

"Wow, I haven't played since college!" Sofia carefully replaced the bass to its stand.

"You did good! Maybe I'll teach you some guitar next time? Some banjo?" Ricky smoothed hair back from his temples. 

"It'd be nice to find some sheet music. Maybe next time you scav a bookshop?" Sofia shuffled closer to her man.

"Wouldn't do me no good, doll. Never could get the hang o' notation. The big O an' Mrs. Spratley tried for a year, when I was a kid. That ended in a broke ukelele an' a week without fancy lads. I always got frustrated as I could play what I could hear, most times, just needed to run through it a bit."

"Playing by ear. Impressive."

"Yeah. That's how I do most things." The half-smile was back. It never stayed off his face for long. "Speakin' of doing….I gotta get going."

"Oh. Today? Really?….oh… The Robco thing." Sofia stood up. "Let me fix you a lunch pail."

Ricky giggled. "Now there's somethin' I haven't had in years. Okay, thankyou. That would be nice. Pack an extra Stimpak for me?"

"Of course." Sofia sighed. "I expect the last thing you'd want to face right now was more bots…."

"There's worse. I'll take the Digger-suit with me."

Sofia reached around Ricky's waist, entwining her fingers together behind his back, drawing him close. He was only just taller than her but she looked up into his blue eyes and kissed him, savoiring the moment.

"Be careful?"

"As often as I can. Love ya to the moon…"  
* * *  
The building loomed ominously against the sky as Ricky crept stealthily up the hill towards it. Suddenly, the sounds of small motors engaging as sensors picked up movement caused Ricky to pause. He peered around a hunk of junk van only to come eye to eye..to eye..with a military Mr. Handy. He managed to damage it quite severely and took out the accompanying Protectron but in a sudden flurry of searing red light, suddenly everything went black.

Ricky awoke, on his back, half underneath the wrecked vehicle. His adrenaline pumped as he shuffled out and stood, dazedly, taking a moment to jab a stimpack in his arm so he could run in case the van exploded.

It didn't but that Colonel Gutsy was still there. He let off a few shots but in a painful moment of deja vû, Ricky hit the asphalt again.

This time, when he came to, he stimpakked up, reloaded and changed tactic. Sneaking around the other way to the door, he finally got inside to find Radcliff waiting for him.

The fight became a blur of lasers, clunky Protectron 'hugs' and exploding metal. The laser turrets in the main atrium proved particularly tough. Ricky Gee in his Excavator armour, backed up by the Sergeant, was eventually a match for everything the place threw at them. 

They moved into the facility's research wing and found what they needed. Just then, the sultry, effeminate voice of an alerted Assaultron made Ricky's hairs stand on end. Having exited his armour to rummage through delicate scientific equipment, he was forced to step back into the thing.

They defended the door with a plasma mine and went around to emerge behind it. The feminine chassis of the special attack robot was fast. It caught them before they could properly ambush it and so ensued a chase around the foyer. More protectrons were activated but before long, they all lay as piles of scrap for the looting.

"Looks like we're cookin' on gas, Serg," Ricky quipped as he lit the flame under the pan. The liquid in the jar began to simmer, just enough.

"This place gives me the creeps!" The Sergeant's attention was on the doors as Ricky worked.

"You ain't the one makin' brain soufflé," he replied. The mission required the aid of a Do It Yourself robobrain. He didn't really have a choice, despite despising their existence. "Poor Greg, sorry bucko. Let's see, time's up. Got that dome, Sergeant?"

"Yeah, here you go. Oooh-eee…that's nasty. I'll hold, you pour."

With a squelcy 'plop', the brain was transferred into the dome. Wires snaked their way into the grey matter and the eye opened. The two men lowered it onto an appropriate waiting chassis. 

The remains of poor old Greg regretted coming into work that last day. However, despite being a little unhinged (you would be too if you woke up to find you'd had your entire body amputated from your brain) he got to work on the mission, creating the necessary equipment.

Whilst he worked, another wave of defensive bots were activated. Ricky and Radcliff worked well as a team and eventually reduced them all to scrap.

They returned to Foundation seperately, where Paige, impressed, informed Ricky that he'd just added to their population; the military group had decided to call Foundation home.

* * *  
"....aaand back! Hey Sofia, I'm home!… woah!"

The workshop had been decorated with soot flowers, rhodedendron petals and paperchains. Sofia sat on the blue sofa by the console, a packaged gift in her hands. 

"Happy Birthday, hero!" She stood and presented the gift, with a kiss. He grinned, eyebrows raised as he saw she was wearing the Mistress of Mystery costume.

Ricky, letting his backpack drop to the floor, still smeared with oil and smelling of electrical smoke, wiped his hands on his trousers and received the gift.

Inside was a Silver Shroud costume, complete with fedora. Underneath was a pristine issue of the Unstoppables and a Grognak plushie.

"Like, wow! Thankyou Sofia! How in the blue blazes did you get hold o'…" he shook his head in happy bewilderment.

"That's between me and Grahm. Try it on!"

After having washed and preened for three quarters of an hour, he did just that. The costumes led to some rather intimate, goofy roleplay and eventually, to the most contented sleep either had had in a while. 

The next morning, Ricky brought Sofia a tea. "I meant to ask you, love, when's _your_ birthday?

Sofia's face clouded. "Oh. I don't think I'll celebrate mine anymore."

"We don't have to count the frozen years. That'll make you just twenty-eight, right? Not sixty. Sorry."

"It's not that."

"Then what, cherry bomb?"

"My birthday…it's October twenty-third."

The day the world died. Ricky looked down at his feet and said quietly, "Ain't that a bite."


	2. Friends, Fiends and Freaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old Vault mate literally bounces back into Ricky's life. He soon discovers what the Wasteland can really do to a man.
> 
> [ Based on actual gameplay with Grimjojo'*s character, co-written by his friend Buckie / Cashasthephonebox* Now that's the kind of creative teamwork I like! ]

It had been during a regular supplies run that Ricky had seen the familiar figure, at dusk. He was, when spotted, bounding up about ten feet in the air! As he got closer, Ricky Gee recognised the face, so similar to his own, down to the admittedly brighter red pompador.

"Travis? Hey buddy, is that you?"

The figure bounded inhumanly over to land directly in front of Ricky. Travis Touchdown was one of the 'Vault Babies'. The man standing in front of him, looking like an alternate-universe version of Ricky Gee himself, did _not _look fifteen years his junior. The Wasteland had been cruel.__

__His skin was rough and scarred, his expression hard. Travis had left the Vault when everyone was supposed to and had been living this apocalyptic life for a year longer than Ricky. Even in this dim light, it really showed._ _

__Ricky's memory warred with what his senses were telling him now about this man. The boy who used to follow him around the Vault like a shadow, steal his jokes and catchphrases and - not that he had copyright on the style or anything - the pompador._ _

__"Hey, Travis, my C.A.M.P. isn't far. I was headin' back anyway. Come with, share a beer or somethin'?"_ _

__The guy nodded once and wordlessly followed._ _

__They arrived at the homestead and sat at the bar on the veranda. Ricky pulled out two beers but his doppelganger shook his head, pulling a bottle from his own pack._ _

__Ricky rolled his shoulder nervously. "Hey. Tell me how you're doin' now your outta the hole?"_ _

__"So… you want to know more about me, huh?" The man who went by “Static” now took a sip of Nukashine, his shaded eyes focused on the table in front of him. He refused, for some reason, to look Ricky in the eyes. “Well, there ain’t that much to know about me…”_ _

__He looked uncomfortable, taking a moment to take another sip and clear his throat, mouth taught._ _

__Ricky jumpstarted the conversation. "What was it your dad did, again?" Though the Vault only had eighty-eight residential compartments, the necessity for rotating groups through certain areas meant that everyone did _not_ know everyone else, by design. Ricky knew the kid, as he had been, but not his parents._ _

__"I’m told, by his few surviving friends, that my dad was a successful football player. Wouldn’t really know myself, never really got a chance to teach me much other than how to hold a baseball bat and what bits of people to hit.” He sighed, turned his face towards his once-idol, but Ricky couldn’t see his eyes behind the shades. He had a feeling Static was not really one for people anymore nor making eye contact. Probably a trauma response, although he also got the feeling that he’d deny that he was traumatised._ _

__“That was all he had time for before he was killed in that generator accident.” He turned back to stare ahead of him, fists clenched on the table. “Ma killed herself not long after that, people keep telling me it was grief…”_ _

__Ricky had vague memories of some tragedy in the Vault but hadn't, until that moment, realised why Travis the copycat kid had bugged him so much, that they had been _his_ parents._ _

__Static sighed, “whatever... Anyway. Practically raised myself after that. Not that there was much raising left to do, I was already 15. Took up maintenance just to make myself useful, gave me something to focus on. Did that for 8 years until I left the vault at 23. It got a bit tedious sometimes so I’d use the baseball machine to let off steam, and when I couldn’t get that running, I guess I’d just swing at whatever I could find.” He turned his head away, “Sometimes people, I guess. If they got on my nerves or in my way…”_ _

__“Did you have any… friends?” Ricky's gut was starting to feel uneasy._ _

__He lets out something that would have been a laugh if it weren’t so sharp and sinister. “Fuck, no,” is the simple, curt answer. Ricky Gee had a feeling that that was something that he almost took pride in. Probably still didn’t have any._ _

__“There was this one guy, he was alright. Like, in a ‘we get along but wouldn’t call each other friends’ kinda way. He just never fucked me over or tried too hard or got in the way.”_ _

__“Where is he?” Now Ricky's nerves were on edge but he consciously kept a cool front._ _

__The scarred man shrugged nonchalantly, completely unbothered. “How the fuck should I know?” He took another sip, tapped the bar to demand another. Ricky produced his only Nukashine, wondering at how the guy wasn't unconscious yet. He himself stuck to the New River Red Ale. Something about the freak's bodylanguage suddenly clicked...that 'one guy' was himself. The childhood idol. By evoking the past, an old childhood word surfaced to Ricky's lips by way of acknowledgement. "Pissah."_ _

__“I guess stunty was my only real friend for a bit there…”_ _

__Gee hesitated to ask. “Stunty?”_ _

__“My pet bear…”_ _

__There was a pregnant pause and then he clocked the phrasing. “...Was?”_ _

__“Yeah. Got killed by some fucking hunter.” Static turned to face the greaser, teeth bearing in a murderous smile “Joke’s on him though because I fucking ate him.”_ _

__Ricky startled back, almost falling out of his chair. He questioned whether or not he should run, hoping to Lady Luck that Sofia stayed indoors, out of sight._ _

__He just chortled at Ricky's reaction, waving his hand. “Don’t you worry, I only eat people who get in my way or attack me and mine, not for sport or anything.”_ _

__Ricky gather himself slightly. “When did you, uh, become a cannibal.”_ _

__“Eh…” he mumbles under his breath slightly, trying to work it out, “somewhere in the first year being out here, I guess? Food’s pretty scarce, and you gotta deal with it somehow. Besides, with all the people I’ve needed to kill, it seemed a shame to let all that good meat go to waste. Stunty didn’t seem to mind it either.”_ _

__The mental image of a Yao Guai with a taste for human flesh somehow didn’t compare to the actual image of this mysterious man with the same penchant. Especially one that was, well, monstrous, to put it lightly. His scaled skin, sunken eyes, talons, twisted muscles, and tendency to practically disappear from sight when he takes a break from talking. Not to mention the poisonous aura and electricity crackling around him. Ricky wondered, for a moment, if that’s how he got the nickname Static. He seemed ridiculously strong, like he’d barely have to look at you to break you in half, let alone lift up the baseball bat by his side. Ricky thought that he really should consider leaving, but there was just something so… charismatic about him that he found himself wanting to know so much more. Besides, he doubted that he had the endurance to outrun this animal of a man._ _

__“You said me and mine? You have a team?” Somehow, Ricky kept on asking questions._ _

__He laughed again, louder this time. “You already forget I don’t really do friends or people? Look, if you can stay alive, then we can team up. But don’t think I’ll care if you wind up dead, because I won’t. We get through whatever mess we’re going through and then we part ways.”_ _

__He took a moment, a small but sincere smile graced his face for such a short moment that Ricky thought that he have imagined it. Somehow it was a little more disconcerting than the threatening looks he’d been giving so far. The knowledge that someone like this could feel for someone else. Looked like there might be a glimmer of humanity left in him. “But… Beckett…”_ _

__Ricky waited for him to continue, but he seemed a little lost in his thoughts. “Who’s Beckett?” he pressed._ _

__The smile twitched again. “He’s the “mine” I mentioned, I guess.”_ _

__Once again the man in front of him had managed to catch him completely off guard. This man had a partner? _This_ man? It was almost completely incomprehensible, but Gee guessed that that was the glint of humanity he saw left in him. Ricky couldn't help but wonder… was that humanity still there before or did Beckett give it to him?_ _

__Static's demeanour changed instantaneously, straight back to the cold man Ricky had seen when he first approached him. “Now if you don’t mind,” he started, gruff but not yet on the verge of annoyed, “I’m trying to have a drink to try to forget most of the shit you just made me remember.”_ _

__* * *  
"Hey love, did we just have a visitor?" Sofia stood at the front door rubbing sleep from her eyes._ _

__"Yeah. Yeah we did. Look, if your console ever shows this PIP-boy signal within a mile of the house, send me the alert and lock the doors."_ _

__"A Raider?"_ _

__"Worse. An old friend."_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Tumblr - find the author there - and actual screencaps! - as TheArtOfBlossoming
> 
> Thanks, Grimjojo for tagging along on my quests, mightily smiting and just being a cool player!
> 
> Buckie, you did a great job in crystalizing the fear and trepidation that Static inspired in Ricky, cheers!


	3. Runaways, Raiders and Ra-Ra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last place he wants to visit is Crater but the Overseer gave him a job to do.

Ricky Gee stuffed supplies into his rucksack with a little more force than was necessary, his regular cocky smirk gone, replaced with two, white pressed lips.

"Hey, Daddy-o, go easy on that packing. Remember you have a…" Sofia jumped.

The sound of a jar breaking somewhere near the bottom of the bag caused him to stop and throw the box of steak he was holding straight down onto the floor, hard. Luckily, it was a tough old package and barely dented one corner.

"Whoa, mister! What has you wound so tight?"  
Sofia's face was creased in concern. 

Ricky huffed and wordlessly unpacked, more carefully this time, until he reached the broken jar of Daytripper pills. He fished out all the glass, chucking it in the scrapper and pocketed the loose pills. Only then did he bother to reply.

"Sorry doll, for losin' my cool," he said quietly. "I just don't get why the Overseer is pushin' me to be all friendly-like with the Raiders up at Crater. I mean, we gave 'em the Nuka Vax but they're a selfish bunch o' mean-spirited, bad news billies that don't give a f.…"

"Maybe she's just hedging her bets. I mean, I _like_ the old lady but there's still something about her that screams 'big corporation mindset'."

"Yeah, that'll be the Vault-Tec trainin'. Mission first, kinda thing. I mean, she's mellowed a bit out here but she's hell-bent on gettin' this gold-standard economy set up. I asked her why bother, caps are workin' fine, ain't they? An' besides, what use is gold, really? She just looked at me as if I said I'd seen aliens and reeled off some economics speech I didn't really pay attention to. Bottom line, though, is that the settlers would have somethin' to build on and trade with to make Foundation stronger."

Sofia nodded. "It does sound promising. I'd like to visit, someday."

Ricky leaned back, half seated on the chemistry bench and scratched at his beard. "It's a good start, is that place. Somewhere a kid can run around in safety, with a full belly an' a family that's around for 'em."

Sofia smiled, seeing a glint of future promise in his eyes.

"So yeah. I'm goin' to Crater 'cause the Overseer thinks its best. I'll play along for now but I've known folks like these, only out for 'emselves. They're dangerous."

Sofia Daguerre picked up the Salisbury Steak and handed it back to him. "Then maybe mollifying them is a way to keep Foundation safe? Just….keep your eyes peeled."

* * *  
Red, tatty fabric caught the wind, blowing the stench of decaying flesh into Rick's gas mask. The assault mask was great for hiding behind and wonderful for filtering poisonous fumes from the air but the heads on sticks that Raiders loved to keep around, well that stink penetrated everything. Ricky Gee stomped across the rickety bridge, consciously turning his bravado up a notch. His gaze was drawn upward by a new body dangling from the arch up high. The gold lines of the blue Vault-suit caught the rays of the mid-morning sun. He didn't try to identify the poor fream.

Inside the Hub, Meg was examining the plans greedily. Ricky still thought it was a bad idea to get the raiders so deeply involved but he had to come off as if he was the key to pulling off the greatest heist ever and that they could get rich by co-operating.

It was just like watching his Grandpappy work, which made his skin crawl. The 'big O' better be right about this move.

The Raider boss had a little job for him, something to get him to prove himself. There was a Supermutant in the camp, apparently female or at least, once-female. 'Gail' took some calming down as apparently her little kid friend had got herself in hot water.

"Ra-Ra went in pipe. Gail too big to follow. Gail need someone small and weak to help." The supermutant looked like she might actually cry. Ricky's heart sank. He didn't like the Raiders and wanted to blow the whole thing off but saving a kid was something he couldn't ignore. Even if, as he half-suspected, the kid turned out to be green.

"Okay, okay Murgatroid, keep your pinny on. I'll fetch her."

* * *  
Turning a corner, Grafton Steelworks came into view. There was a workshop, all set up with a raised, metal cuboid prefab and a few turrets dotted about. Ricky claimed ownership and ascended the steel hut to sort out his equipment. He stashed a fair pile of junk that he'd accumulated on the way and tossed in some ammo he wasn't using. A quick weapons check and he headed downstairs to follow the marker on his PIP-boy.

A radrat jumped up out of the gravel and startled him. Turrets started to go off, aiming uncomfortably close to Ricky's legs. He dispatched the rats and hurried to the edge of the wall. It was a long drop. The marker seemed to be directly beneath him, which meant an access hatch of some kind.

Using his power armour, he jumped off the wall and onto a narrow ledge. He climbed out of the powered armour again. Being able to jump off high places without injury was invaluable in Appalachia.

The grate was large but he could see how a greenie couldn't enter. He crawled through into a warehouse space that smelled of ozone and warm steel. A few downed Protectrons later and he found the scamp. 

"I'm not going without Bunna-bun! A big creature stole it!" screamed the kid, her pigtails waving, reminding Ricky of Enid at around eight years old.

The hunt that ensued had Ricky depending on the tyke to crawl through vents, opening doors from the inside. He found a better power armour helmet and a fair bit of scav. The Protectrons and Gutsy's went down with a lot of shotgun shells and relative ease but when he finally spotted the red-lit, stuffed rabbit next to a radrat corpse, Ricky's guts churned. 

There, just across the room, was a pristine, top model Sentrybot. It's sensors whirred to life. The kid was up in a vent, out of the way. The red lights flashed into Ricky's eyes and he hefted his armour-piercing sniper rifle only to hear the *click* of an empty mag. He reached into his ammo bag to find that he'd dumped all of his .50s into his stash at the workshop. He let off a couple of shotgun blasts and ran. 

The three-wheeled hunk of menace trundled towards him, firing missiles and lasers. Ricky's forehead dripped sweat in this hot, airless place, heated by rivers of molten metal nearby. He reloaded countless times, threw down mine after mine and chucked most of his grenades. He went down a couple of times, knocked senseless, only to wake and scrabble to cover and hastily apply stimpaks. Explosions from the main room told Ricky that Ra-Ra must have been playing with things she shouldn't have as the Sentry bot appeared again, with a new dent.

He was just peeking out from around a doorway, up a ramp too small for the bot, when his shotgun broke. He was down to a few baseball grenades and a ski-sword. No chance.

"Dammit. Stay put kid, I'll be back."

Ricky retraced his steps and popped out of the grate. He rushed to the little prefab workshop, retrieved his .50 ammo and beat the broken shotgun component back into submission. Scooping up a few extra shells, he exited the workshop only to be confronted by a gang of supermutants.

Between the turrets and his fully loaded rifle, the hulks were dealt with swiftly. Ricky rushed down, as quickly as was safe, hoping that the kid had stayed put. He got a little lost in the maze of Garrahan's industrial complex and met a couple of bots as yet untouched. He bullseye'd them all. 

Deeper in, almost at the bottom, he heard the Sentry bot's unmistakeable rollerball track noise. He also heard Ra-Ra squeaking in the duct above.

Stealthily, Ricky crept as close as he dare, let off a couple of rounds with the rifle, then switched to the combat shotgun. He dropped a mine and ran.  
Lasers seared his arm. He could feel the sticky oozing of a fresh wound but kept running. Flinging himself around the corner, he turned and blasted without aiming at the looming bulk of the bot. A crunch, a circuit shorting…the bot rolled back a short way. A couple more shells lodged in the robot's tough exterior and the chassis made the sound of surrender. Ricky Gee dived for cover.

Moments later, a huge explosion rocked the hanging chains and punched the sizzling air into Ricky's ears. When the ringing subsided and he opened his eyes fully, the girl was right there, hugging her Bunna-bun and jabbering happily.

"Hey, Squirt, nice job. Let's get you home."

* * *  
The hub door hissed open, exchanging the smokey, heated air inside for the crisp, faintly putrid air outside. Even through the tinted gas mask, he winced at both smell and light. Gail had her little girl back, the kiddo had her bunny. Gee couldn't help but grin.Then, stepping off the stairs, he spotted someone who made him grimace.

Static, strolling right up to him. There was no escaping the freak now.


	4. Ghouls, Grottos and Gains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raiders, Settlers and Family. Life pulls Ricky in various (often dangerous) directions.

"Racket." Static's voice was low and gravelly and without emotion. Ricky laughed involuntarily at the mention of his old nickname, nerves creeping into the sound.

Travis Touchdown, the regular human that Static once was, had always teased Ricky about his music. Gee thought the kid was jealous, really, as he was arguably the best improvisational musician in the Vault, not to toot his own horn or anything. Or perhaps the kid was tone-deaf, if all he heard really was a racket.

Ricky stuttered, "Tr..Static. What's buzzin', cuzzin?"

He didn't really want an answer but he got one anyway.

"Lookin' for kicks. Think I'll tag along."

_Me and my shadow,_ Ricky thought, ominously. The annoying copycat kid had been transformed by the Wasteland into a multi-mutated monster, a walking Atom Bomb. He couldn't refuse him… you don't piss off nuclear weapons.

"Sure. I'm on the trail of this ghoul-fella. I was told to talk to Weasel."

Static motioned with a subtly clawed hand and Ricky followed him to a cave-like entrance. A girl stood there, wearing a collar-like gadget around her neck. When she spoke, the voice was robotic and tinny. It turned out that she'd been a fink who had had her voice box burned out with a poker.  
Ricky shivered internally. That was an old gangster trick. He was sure one of his Grandpappy's muscle had had the same done to him. Shuck, his name was….

Weasel explained that the ghoul wanted to be left alone but showed them the sealed door. The voice on the other end of the speakerphone made that same point very clearly. Despite that, Weasel used explosives to blast themselves a back door.

Every time Static got too close, Ricky felt goosebumps. He daren't push the guy away, nor try to get too close. As it was, when cave crickets shrugged off his first couple of hits and scuttled down the corridor too fast to finish them off, he was glad that Static's fist was on _his_ side.

The cave system was a bit of a maze but it seemed that the mutant could sense the way…or he'd been here before. The two soon got into a rhythm: Ricky, leading the way where he could and tagging various targets with his sniper rifle, Static finishing them off with a sizzling crunch and Weasel hanging back until she was needed to blast the passageway open. 

The tunnels eventually led them to a door, with no other way forward. Ricky could just see through the dirty glass into a metal room beyond and a similar glass-windowed door opposite, through which a scrawled sign made it clear that they weren't welcome. There was no other choice. Meg needed the ghoul, so the Overseer did too. He entered.

The moment Ricky stepped into the room, the metal door clanged shut. Pipes suggested gas, so he rushed across to press the big red button, expecting it to be the second door release. He turned to see Static's face, hand suddenly pressed against the glass, patrolman sunglasses hiding most, but not all of his surprise as Ricky went down.

Water rushed toward him, wind tearing at his stubbornly greased hair. The impact was like the shockwave from a Mirelurk King's roar, a full-body punch. Ricky bobbed up, the water only just deep enough to have not broken bones on the rocky floor, to twist his head and see Static jump in after. _To save him or just for the thrill?_ he wondered. Spitting and coughing, Ricky swam to the edge and hauled himself out, just as Static splashed down.

They found the old man, ghoulish and tired of life. Ricky spoke to him, explained the situation. The bloodshot eyes belayed resistance but Ricky's 'shadow' loomed forward slightly, emmitting an aura of profound calm. The next words out of Gee's mouth were almost mesmerising to the old ghoul, whose expression shifted to acquiesence and he successfully persuaded him to do that one last job. Static stepped back again, stood there and just… sizzled.  
* * *  
The journey home went near to Static's C.A.M.P., an old log cabin he'd repurposed. Ricky couldn't say no to the invitation to stop by, he was carrying far too much junk (as usual, the packrat) and also guessed it for what it was, a fair exchange of information. Now they both knew where each other lived…and where to stay the hell away from unless invited.

A third figure moved in a back room. He mumbled some greeting through a comic robot mask. The guy was entirely dressed as some half-familiar figure. This must, Ricky deduced, be Beckett. The safety-catch on the atom bomb.

The C.A.M.P. was homely, if a little eccentric. A once beloved pet Yao Guai was now preserved…well, its head was… and the bed wore a Mothman duvet that made Rick tilt his head and roll his shoulder as he always did when his phobia was triggered.

He utilised the workbench and went on his way, keeping the visit as short as he could without appearing rude. Beckett didn't seem to have much to say, nor did he remove his robotic helm. Static seemed sated by the action and waved him off with a mock-guitarist pose in reference to his old nickname. _Might have actually been part-compliment, that poke,_ thought Ricky. 

When finally he set foot through his own door, he found Sofia distracted by her console, though she made mention of a trader. When Ricky finally put down his rucksack and travelling coat, he went upstairs to find the merchant brazenly asleep on his own bed! 

"Gotta change those locks!"  
* * *  
The evening was cool, the turrets quiet. The copper extractor was off, as was the collectron. The only sounds were chirrupping squirrels and the crackle of the campfire. Ricky Gee sat hunched over, forearms resting on his legs, staring into the flames, mind off in his thoughts. He barely registered the soft footsteps behind him and so the gentle "Hey, love," made him startle.

Sofia stepped over the curved stonewall seat to press her warm thigh next to his. She leaned into his shoulder slightly. "Earth to Ricky..?"

"Mm? Sorry Doll. Just thinkin'."

"I can see that but what's giving that handsome noggin the gringles? Your face is all wrinkled."

Ricky gave a little half-smile and turned his head to look up at her well-postured form. "Why does family always have to be so complicated?"

Sofia put her right hand gently on his cheek, the beard surprisingly soft on her palm. "It doesn't. Sometimes you get to choose your family."

Ricky covered her soft hand with his own, the skin on his fingertips toughened by playing guitar, his palm calloused by weapon use. "You were the only one I got to choose. The rest chose me…or were just landed with me. I'm so lucky you chose me right back."

He kissed her hand and withdrew his own, locked his fingers together and turned back to the fire. "Now there's bigger families at stake an' I gotta choose. Who can get the job done? Damn. Never in a million did I ever think I'd be plannin' a heist. Thought I'd escaped all that when I put on the ol' blue and gold," he said, tugging at his Vault-suit collar, hidden beneath layers of armour and travelling coat. 

"The Bosslady thinks the world went ta hell because people just didn't trust one another and has this rose-colored view that we can change all that. Well. The settlers trust the raiders alright…to screw them over. They ain't wrong. Not talkin' 'bout Blood Eagles, neither. They're a bunch o' violent psychopaths. Nah. The raiders at Crater are the dangerous types. They're the wounded dogs, the misfits 'n' the downright selfish con-artists."

Ricky sighs and lowers his voice. "That coulda been me."

"But it's not you, Ricky. Don't you see why the Overseer picked you to make this choice? You've seen both sides of the fence." Sofia had left the stone bench to sit on the ground in front of him.

"It ain't as simple as that, Spacekitten. The other seventy-sixers, they're choosin' sides too. People I _thought_ I knew, sympathisin' with the Raiders. Miss C.- Corette - , Elias Tompson the Crazy Cryptid guy, and even Jolene from Engineerin' I hear are hangin' out at Crater most. Some of 'em look to be turnin' full raider, too."

"On the other hand, Yous - that's Juspeczyk, I always heard her name as 'You's Pet Chick' - she seems to be sympathetic with Foundation. I always thought she was a cool chick. Emilia an' Lucille are tryin' to smooth things over between the two - I told 'em it ain't gonna work, best you can hope for is damage control. They'll side with Foundation, though, for reasons. I saw my old teacher there too, Ms. O'Connor, bein' chummy with the Taylors. No sign of her daughter though. You know, she was the first kid born in the Vault? Not sure whether I pity or envy the young Vaulties, never havin' seen the outside before, then they come out to this…"

Sofia secretly thought that, given Ricky's mobster upbringing, some Vault Dwellers might be just as surprised with _his_ choices but she knew better than to voice it.

"On the other hand, a few of us know that Foundation won't last long without our support. I'm not lookin' for a copy of what we had in the Vault, that was _too_ perfect, like an advertisement for civilised society, they way you'd see it on teevee. It lasted twenty-five years but I could see the cracks formin'."

"I can't imagine what living underground for so long would do to people. I need to see the sky, the stars…"

"Yeah. We ain't moleminers. Not built for that. The real question is, what do we really have to gain? It ain't about the money. Never really is. It's all about power: who has it, who uses it responsibly, who uses it to fuck other people up. We know damn well who's gonna misuse it. So…it ain't a matter o' trust, like the Big O thinks. It's a matter of experience, of knowin' who you're dealin' with. That's why seein' family - the old seventy-six gang - turn into whatever they were hidin' deep inside, is scarin' the shit outta me."

Ricky's expression was intense, flames dancing in his blue eyes. Sofia knew who the catalyst for this epiphany had been. 

"Travis." 

"He ain't Travis no more. But he's still family." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to these fellow Tumblrs who lent their characters to Ricky's story, despite not all playing on the same platform!  
> Shoutout to:  
> Static - grimjojo  
> Elias Tompson - redrocketwarrior  
> Jane Juspeczyk - mustinvestigate  
> Wendy (and daughter) O'Connor -  
> molliehaswords  
> Emilia and Lucille - slothssassin


	5. Lines, Loot and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ricky travels to Big Bend Tunnel. What he finds along his journey was not what he wanted to find at all.

The next few days passed in a blur of booze, bufftats and booms. Sofia had found a weapons stash signal that led to Big Bend Tunnel. Ricky entered from the west to find that a caravan company had set up there and they pointed him at a guy called Vinny to earn a few caps as a hired gun. He didn't mind the sound of that, as long as he was protecting people worth his bullets. As it turned out, Vinny was waiting at the other end with more guards, but the tunnel itself had still been full of moleminers. Maybe he should have gone overland and got hired, first. Well, their next trip would be easier, " _A gratis_ , folks," he thought.

The weapons cache turned out to be something of a sick joke, a meld of what Ricky loved in the style of something he hated: a guitar sword. A Raider's interpretation of death by muzak. Maybe Uumellmahaye, or whatever her name was, would at least trade it for scrip.

The one good thing about following the railway line through Big Bend Tunnel was the junk. Tons of it, more than he could carry, even high on Bufftats and booze. Ricky stopped off at Foundation to trade the decent weapons and bulked materials and bought enough ballistic fibre to finally finish the stealth suit that Jen's mother had given him plans for. It was a tricky bit of sewing but Gee was pretty handy with a needle and thread…or a sturdy industrial sewing machine.

"Hey, fellow Vault Dweller!" Samuel's perky capped face was suddenly up in Ricky's. 

Gee threw his hands up and backed of a step. "Ain't you heard o' personal space, man?"

"Whoah, sorry Rick."

"It's Rick _y_ ," he said, eyes narrowing on the last letter for emphasis.

"Oh, okay."

"What Vault did you say you were from, anyway, Samuel?"

"Oh, it's far away, you wouldn't have heard of it."

"Yeah. Right."

"Man, did I tell you I lost all my Nuka Tapper saves…again!" Samuel wasn't wearing a PIP-boy, so Ricky assumed he played on a terminal. He doubted that Samuel had ever owned a PIP-boy in the first place.

"Maybe Penny could look at your game box, if you ask her nice."

"Sure, sure!"

Ricky set his shoulder and deliberately gently pushed past. "Gotta see Paige."

"Oh, okay, seeya!"

* * *  
Paige was staring at a clipboard when Ricky found him.

"Hey, man," Ricky said casually.

"Mr. Gee, I'm glad to see you. Jen tells me you're almost ready to go."

"Almost. There's somethin' I need to take care of, gatherin' supplies an' such but I'm gonna get back here in a coupla days."

"Fine, fine. We'll be ready when you are."

"Oh, hey, I heard you like Vodka. Don't drink it much myself." Ricky handed the head of Foundation a pristine bottle of what once was very expensive Vodka. 

"Thanks, Gee."

"Jus' Ricky's fine, sir." He turned and walked to the elevator.

"Ricky, heads up!" shouted Paige after him.

He turned to see a pack of Grey Tortoise flying through the air, caught them in one hand and gave a loose salute.

* * *  
Parched earth crumbled underfoot as Ricky Gee crept towards crater. He'd heard something nearby but the Assault gas mask muffled his hearing just that bit too much. He didn't need it for the local atmosphere, only to keep his face hidden from the Raiders. His beloved pompador would just have to suffer. 

He stepped onto a rickety bridge straddling a toxic stream that ran around the crashed space station. That smell was back, sweet and sickly…plus something more acidic. 

Suddenly, from his left, a sinuous shape lashed out at Ricky's arm. He turned, bringing up his shotgun to shoot the thing in its multiple eyes.  
The snallygaster spat at him, spittle that sizzled and corroded his armour. It was quick but Ricky was quicker, his aim enhanced by the Vault-tec Assisted Targeting System, shining a holographic overlay onto the mutant so he knew exactly how to hit it where it hurt.

The thing tried to jump him but Ricky's shot landed squarely and exploded the thing's head. Acidic guts splattered all over his Ranger's coat.   
_Well, now at least I'll blend in by smell,_ he thought to himself as he brushed away clinging gobbets.

Stepping through the entrance and up into the hub, he heard a familiar chattering.

"Gail, Gail, it's him! Bunna-bun's hero!" A small missile hurled herself at Ricky's legs in a brief, hard hug.

"Watch-it, squirt," he said. Ricky had thought of persuading Ra-Ra to live with the settlers but knew she wouldn't go without Gail. He'd had a hard enough time persuading the settlers to accept ghouls, never mind a supermutant.

"Yeah, hi, eff-off now," the kid responded, breaking the hug as if suddenly allergic.

_Then again, maybe Foundation just ain't ready for Ra-Ra,_ he thought.

Meg greeted him not unkindly. She explained how they'd need one more person to pull off the vault job and motioned to one of the offshoot rooms of the hub.

Ricky tensed as soon as he saw the tuxedo. 'Gentleman' Johnny Weston smiled the kind of smile that Ricky hadn't seen for years. It was a very good imitation of pleasure but just beneath the genial surface, a complex soup of sinister selfishness bubbled.

He explained that a friend of his had been captured, that it was a two person job to rescue him. Ricky had enough guile and charisma of his own to get a few more details. It would mean entering a contest, an arena, a battle to the death. Ricky doubted that this 'friend' was a real friend at all, more likely a lackey…or a slave. There was no hint of compassion for this friend in the Gentleman's eyes. No, this guy just wanted his property back and was prepared to throw Ricky's life away for it, he knew, as he'd been one of these people in his youth. The first ten years of a child's life are very formative.

Lucky for Ricky, Vault-Tec had been very _re_ formative. Thinking of Sofia and of all the Settlers depending on him to do the job their way, Ricky decided that this risk was a line he wouldn't cross, not for the Overseer, not even for the poor Clyde who had tried to run. Gee decided it wouldn't be safe to turn him down outright, so he lied and said that he had to do something first. Judging by Johnny Weston's smug expression, the conman had swallowed the lie. 

Ricky had a sudden need to get back to his cosy homestead and to the love of his life. He wanted to burn that damn tuxedo in situ, pick the mouthy kid up under his arm and rescue anyone here who deserved a second chance. The thought snuck in that everyone here was probably at least on their third chance or had no hope of repair anyway. The broken space station itself was a monument to their collective fallen ideals. Too much damage, all in one place, fallen too far.

* * *  
After a quick trip home to square things away, repair equipment and spend an intimate night with the commander of his heart (he'd made himself wince at the cheesiness of _that_ pet name), Ricky set out for Foundation once more.

Sometimes the route was uneventful, sometimes there were more targets than bullets but every time he went there his heart swelled to see that green tower, a recycled beacon of civilisation. He took the lift down.

Paige was hammering at a floor grille. "Ah, hello friend. So, are you ready?"

Ricky shifted his travelling coat aside to reveal the stealth suit. "Ready. Let's go break into a vault."


	6. Automation, Bioconversion and Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watoga, Helvetia and Home; Ricky faces robots, revellers and relatives.

Ward was sleeping in his bunk but Woods, one of the settlers, told Ricky to go ahead and wake him since he had a shift in the garden soon.

"Hey, um….mornin', Ward."

The weather-worn ex-Raider rolled over and sat up, wiping sleep from his eyes and adjusted the hat that hadn't left his head.

"Mmm, right. Morning, Gee. Woods let ya in?"

"Yessir, she did." Ricky saw Ward motion toward the hotplate, so he filled the kettle with water and set it boiling whilst Ward wiped his face with a damp rag.

"So, found the thingamajigger then?" Ward finished off making the coffee and handed Ricky a cup.

"Thanks. Here ya go," Ricky said, shaking his head as Ward put his hand in his caps pouch. "Save your caps, cat. Put it towards buildin' up Foundation."

"Well, that is very generous of you, Mr. Gee. Thankyou." Ward tipped his hat and Ricky replaced the now empty cup.

"Hey, no problemo. I'm jazzed to see what you can do with the place now we got into Fat City."

At Ward's quizzical glance, he amended, "Seventy-nine."

"Yes. Well, big changes take time so don't hold your breath…but we do appreciate your help. Have a good day, now."

Outside in the square, Ricky traded a few excess weapons, materials and irradiated packaged food with the various Sunnies. He heard a familiar nervous laugh behind him and turned to see a face he'd not seen for months.

"Hey there. Been a long while since I saw one of the old Seven Six gang! How you doing out here?' You here to take the weight off as well? Been awhile since I saw you last," said the tallish, skinny man. His short, brown hair boasted a neat side-parting and just enough pomade to keep in in its rather pedestrian style. The hairline hinted at an imminent retreat and the man's brown eyes had a touch too much intensity about their gaze.

_Oh great, it's Crazy Cryptid Dude,_ thought Ricky. He'd had to work with the older man in the mechanic's department in the Vault. Credit to the guy, he knew his trade and had taught the teenaged Ricky skills that had stood him in good stead. Nevertheless, if Ricky let him talk, the man would rattle on about aliens, wendigos, the Grafton Monster and - to Ricky's disgust - Mothman.

"Hey, Elias. Nice coat," Ricky commented, seeing that the man was wearing the same Ranger's outfit that he was. He now desperately wanted to change back into his trusty greaser's leather jacket.

"Haha, snap! So, seen anything weird around here?" Elias wasn't one to beat around the bush. 

Ricky avoided the question by asking his own: "Been up to Crater?"

"Oh sure, you?" 

Ricky simply nodded.

Elias continued, "Don't worry if they rib you by the way. They're kinda friendly in their own way," then his face lit up in a comfortable grin, most unlike the expression he had been wearing here in Foundation.

_So, just like I heard. Tompson's turnin' Raider. He has no idea what a bunch o' bad news they are._ "Gotta lay a patch, Tompson."

"Make like the Mothman and flit, heh?"

Ricky steeled himself against the double whamny of a mention of his biggest fear and the attempted 'cool' catchphrase, said "Later, lean bean," and left.

* * *  
The boggy mud sucked at Ricky's boots as he crept along a ditch toward Watoga. Last time he'd been here, Assaultrons and other crazed bots had harried him. His PIP-boy had picked up a message from the local mayor. If there was anyone under seige in the futuristic, automated city, he'd get them out.

The stealth-field in his shinpad tingled to life as he paused, crouched. The sound of Protectrons' clunky footsteps approached. A few shots from his trusty sniper rifle dispatched the two inquisitive mechanicals. He listened for evidence of tougher bots but finding none, crept onward. 

Slipping into the building tagged by his PIP-Boy, Ricky rode the lift up to where a few sorry Scorched scurried around. He wondered who they had been before the terrible affliction had subscribed them to the hive mind. He freed them all from that servitude, one by one.

He reched the Mayor's office and his shoulders sagged. Just another programme…and a woman's remains. There was a way to reprogramme the bots in Watoga so that they would no longer recognise Ricky as a threat, so he jumped those hoops in the hope that it would make life easier for anyone following in his footsteps. 

Up on the roof, wave after wave of 'bots tried to stop him using the terminal to upload the new data. To add to the chaos of Mr. Gutsy fire, Robobrain smoke and lightning and Protectron attack, Ricky heard the whoosh of wings.

"Oh man its Antsville round here," BLAM! "You don't see me now, flappy.…C'mon Ricky, stay anti-frantic…" BLAM " You achin' for a breakin' Mr. _Gusty_?" Ricky reloaded his trusty shotgun. A vertical rain of electricity hit him but mostly bounced off his armour. He forced his tingling fingers to pull the trigger at the advancing Robobrain. To his right, Ricky suddely realised that the huge mound of dirt and debris was a pile of Scorchbeast guano. The wingbeats drew closer, then wheeled away. Ricky stayed crouched by the terminal. 

A few downed robots later, he risked popping up to check the screen. "Thirty seconds…" The Scorchbeast had found other prey, thankfully, so a final couple of Robobrains later, the computer announced completion of its task. A tracked Protectron trundled forwards as Ricky dashed to the elevator.

He was about to interface with MAIA when the Protectron trundled in, firing.

"What, you didn't get the memo?" quipped Ricky, finishing it off. He spoke to MAIA and finally all the 'bots in Watoga were neutered.

* * *  
"Everyone's going to Fasnacht!" he said. The fellow Vault Dweller adjusted his grotesque mask and motioned to his team to carry on. Ricky thought he recognised the voice but couldn't place it. Might have been Wyche, the power armour specialist or maybe Doc Kardrath. Either way, the guy didn't stop. Something about the parade starting on the hour, every hour. 

Ricky had to dump the enormous pile of junk and saleable items back at his C.A.M.P., otherwise he would have tagged along right then and there. As it was, he made his mind up to go as soon as he could.

Sofia was less enthused. "It sounds… very..um European?" she said. "I think I'll give it a miss, thanks. Got a promising signal here I'm trying to boost."

"Sure. I'll go catch up with my Vaultmates then. Sure you don't wanna…"

"Haha, I need _far_ more practice with this pistol before I go anywhere. You dig?"

"Yeah, I dig. No offense but you got a point."

Sofia scowled at him, a grin lurking at the edges.

Ricky grabbed a bite to eat and went out of the door as Sofia shouted "Happy Fast Nacked or whatever!" behind him and he grinned, shaking his perfectly coiffeured head.

* * *  
Helvetia was littered with ribbons, balloons, lanterns and confetti. Several fellow seventy-sixers had turned up, most wearing grotesque papier-maché masks. Ricky declined a mask, aside from messing up the pomp he was concerned that it would restrict hearing and vision. Who knew what else would turn up to the party?

"Happy fuckin' Fasnacht, Racket." That could only be one person.

"Static. Fancy seein' you here." Ricky kept his tone neutral, unwilling to reveal his uneasiness around the younger, larger, highly mutated man. In the vault, Travis 'Static' Touchdown had been just an annoying kid copycat who grew up to be someone that Ricky generally ignored. The Wasteland had changed him, though. He'd seen the monster punch a gigantic hermit crab - which was using an entire van for a shell - punch him to death before breakfast! Thankfully, Ricky's terrifying shadow seemed to enjoy just turning up and tagging along from time to time.

Static wore one of the hideous oversized masks in the style of a goblin. There was no mistaking him, though: Blood Eagles trophy jacket, punching weapon and the slight crackle of electricity about him.

The festival go-ers busied themselves readying the robots for parade. Honey, intestines for sausages, beer steins and decorations were collected. Ricky happily hopped up onto the stage to play music and cringed as the so-called 'musician' protectron joined in.

The robots gathered in front of a Mr. Handy, master of ceremonies and started their march. All the noise attracted rad toads and worse, Supermutants, as they stomped along their well-worn trail.

"How often do they do this, Static," Ricky ventured to ask.

"Every hour, on the hour," he replied. "It's a blast."

He meant that literally as a punch actually exploded on contact with a Supermutant that had tried to ambush them. Ricky moved on a few paces to snipe down a suicider greenie. He heard wet, cracking munching and looked behind him to see Static kneeling by the mutant's body, biting into a torn off limb like a wild animal. 

He vomited. Boy was he glad he wasn't wearing a mask right then.

Static caught up to him. "That was the grossest thing I've seen. Why the _hell_ did you _eat_ that greenie, man?" Ricky's fear of Static was muted by the horror of what he'd just witnessed. Static just smirked, seeming pleased to see some balls on Gee at last.

"Don't like to waste food." He deliberately licked at the corner of his mouth, his smirk widening as he saw Ricky pale. 

The parade bots had paused in their march, a few looking slightly battered. Static whipped out a flaming sword and effectively welded shut a few tears in their steel carapaces.

Up ahead, there was an increase in gunfire. The two rushed up to join the other ex-Vault Dwellers in time to see an angry, shaggy giant sloth waving scythe-like claws around. Ricky got in a shot or two from afar whilst Static rushed in and punched it. The fungally-furred beast roared a piteous cry and thudded to the ground. The one or two feral hounds that had been chasing the sloth turned on the power-armoured partygoers and were dealt with swiftly.

The threats dispatched, the rotund, three-eyed Master of Ceremonies hovered on his flaming jet up to the bonfire to finish up the festival. By this point, Ricky had swigged down a few beers and was in the party spirit. He chucked a molotov - somewhat carelessly - at the bonfire. 

A robot handed him a party bag containing a piece of well-constructed armour, a yellow and brown chequered beret and some decorations. Static swaggered up wearing a Deathclaw mask and dropped a bag on the ground in front of Ricky. 

"Here." Static was a man of few words.

Inside were instructions on how to make a rug out of a megasloth hide and more decorations. Ricky didn't quite know how to respond, so he chucked a beer and some plan he was going to sell. 

"Happy fuck'n' Fasnacht to you too, buddy."

* * *  
As Ricky approached the homestead, he reflected on the fact that he'd called Static 'buddy'. As uncomfortable as he was with his former fanboy, the guy had grown up in seventy-six and had always fought alongside Ricky, never against him. Admittedly, it was always on Static's own terms. The mutant was a heavy weapon alright but not one that you could order around. Perhaps Beckett was the only one to see his softer side, assuming he had one. At least the gift had been a hint of humanity.

Leaping over the low section of the fence, all thoughts of Static were left behind as Ricky heard Sofia talking to someone inside. He felt that she was being a little too trusting of travelling traders and was about to voice his concern when he opened the door to see…

"Gramps!" Ricky spontaneously flung himself forward to wrap the old man in a brief but heartfelt hug.

"I know, I know," said the old Forager. "Good to see you too. Now, I can't remember your name, though sonny…"

"Ricky, Gramps..it's Ricky but I can live with 'Sonny'.

That evening was spent on the veranda at the private bar, catching up and playing instruments, listening to the old man reminisce with Sofia about the years that felt so very recent to her, when Gramps had been a young man. Ricky felt content being surrounded by family that he himself had chosen and who had chosen him in return. He only wished that the wily old detective could be there. Then again, maybe he was. You never knew when the Mysterious Stranger was watching your back…or listening to your steel guitar solo.


	7. Radio Chatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Vault job happened, Ricky gets interviewed and a familiar face pops up.

"Hey, you're listening to Julie here at Appalachia radio. We have more than music for you today, I thought I'd try something a bit new. Here's a holotape sent in by the grateful settlers of Foundation, an interview with the man from seventy six, the guy who made it possible to crack the legendary treasure vault and prove that the rumours were true. There really _was_ gold in them thar hills! Haha, sorry, getting carried away. Here's the interview:

"Thanks for agreeing to be here, Mister Gee. Or is that Responder? Private?"

"Just Ricky's fine, Elsie. I got too many prefixes since I left the vault an' none of 'em sit quite right anyhow."

"Oh come on, you're too modest about it! This is the man, listeners, who has jumped through so many hoops to gain access to some of the most well-guarded places in Appalachia. He's managing to keep _certain factions_ in check and was instrumental in founding the new Treasury Note system. Ricky, can you tell us a bit about this?"

"It was mostly the Overseer's idea."

"Yes, so folks, Ricky Gee here had to get into a top security part of Vault-Tec University and to do that, he had to pass an Overseer's exam as the system wouldn't recognise Ms…uh…?"

"We don't ask, she don't tell. I just call her 'the Big O' or 'Bosslady'…or ma'am."

"Oh..well… it wouldn't recognise the Overseer of Vault seventy-six. So mister…uh - Ricky - had to do a simulated Vault exam and he passed with flying colours! Was it the same success story when you entered seventy-six all those years ago?"

"*laughs* I ain't _that_ old! Remember, that place was sealed up for twenty five years. Most seventy-sixers went in older'n twenty or were born there. I was 'bout eleven. I had to take a G.O.A.T. test…well, that's for sixteen year olds. I took what they called a K.I.D. evaluation, then they got me to sit a mock G.O.A.T. early 'fore they'd let me in. So I was younger than most."

"Oh, really? And why did you enter so young? Were you with brilliant academic parents? I hear seventy-six only let the cream in. Many people were bitter about that. I remember my mother and her friend discussing the subject rather…hotly."

"Hmm. That's kinda personal."

"Alright, moving on then. What made you decide to support Foundation? It seems that _some_ ex-Vaultdwellers have taken up with the Raiders, to the shock of many, whilst others tread the narrow path of neutrality. Where exactly do you stand, Mr. Gee?"

"Folks deserve a chance to live their lives in peace. If someone's doin' ya wrong, we gotta put it right, together. The old world split apart 'cause folks were only lookin' out for themselves or bein' too afraid o' bein' decent to each other in groups cause they'd get accused o' bein' reds. I just wanna be cool, y'know? Get to live and love an' play my guitar. Have a full belly ev'ry day, keep healthy. If I can help make that reality for others too, that thought razzes my berries, y'know? Puts the spice in the stew."

"A wonderful sentiment. Do you think that the gold will unite us… or divide people further?"

"Gold, scrip, caps…it don't matter really. What matters is how people respond to having _power_. Any kind o' power. Share it, see it as a responsibility… or hoard it, use it over others. That'll determine if we pass this last test or not. It ain't enough to survive. We gotta find new ways to _thrive_. Can't do that if you're not bein' cool, Elsie."

"Very deep, Ricky. You're full of surprises. Well that's all we have time for today. Thanks again, Ricky Gee and all you other seventy-sixers out there who are working for the good of all, to reclaim, rebuild, and redistribute the true wealth of our nation. Our sincerest thanks."

"No sweat. Stay safe."

* * *  
"Hey love, I just heard you on the radio! That was good!" Sofia reached out to cradle his bearded jaw with one hand whilst he used his bare trigger finger to push the black rimmed glasses back up her nose. She smiled.

"Well, it's just what came out is all." Ricky leaned in and pecked her on the lips, mindful of needing to clean the dirt off his travel-stained face.

"You always say just what you mean, don't you love? That's one of the things I adore about you. You're honest."

"Except when I'm not. Lied to that robot again about the photos. I mean, what use are they to him? It's not like the big O needs them? She ain't overseein' the whole damn state! Better that Foundation has that info. Call it damage control."

"Yes, well, that's something I can live with knowing. I'd do the same, if I was out there…" Sofia's gaze drifted toward the window where the lush hills beckoned. "Ricky," she paused. "Ricky I think it's time I went out there. Not far, not on my own, even. Gramps and I were talking and he's happy for me to tag along with him on his 'quiet routes'. I've been practicing my aim and look!" she held out her pistol, dull metal contrasting against a shiny, newly machined part, "I used your plan to make this! It is _so_ much easier to use now."

Ricky took the modded weapon carefully and inspected it. "Good job, Mistress," he said, referring of course to the Unstoppables character, the Mistress of Mystery. "I'm gonna live up to my promise one day and take you to that mansion, maybe even get you registered properly, if I can figure out how to get that console to do it again."

"That would be neato!" Sofia's eyes shone. "So?"  
she prompted him.

"You know I'd hate to see you go but you're free as a bird, Sof. Permission to launch granted…not that ya need it from me, ever, you hear? Just jawin'."

"Loud and clear, my cool cat dear."

"Love you."

"I love you too. It's about time to eat, let's rustle up something together, shall we?"

"That's a plan."

They cooked a stew from assorted leftovers and food that was going off from Ricky's pack. It was pretty tasty, they both agreed, as did Gramps when he came up from the guesthouse. After the meal, all three sat on the veranda until the stars came out, drinking beer with Ricky plucking quiet, moving melodies out of the battered guitar.

Morning came and Sofia left, following Gramps' slow but steady pace. Suddenly the homestead was just a house on a hill with a clunkety robot, a chugging extractor and a mournful wind. He quickly packed, locked up and went to chase down some stolen equipment for Ward. He didn't much want to be at home without Sofia.

Stopping at the boarded up old Slocum's Joe to help a few settlers fight off raiders that were trying to claim this decent spot, Ricky noticed tents across the way. As he got closer, tucking in ammo looted from raider bodies into his belt pouch, he spotted a familiar mohecan and pair of goggles.

"Punk."

"Ohhh, hey, seventy six!"

"That ain't my name."

"Punk ain't mine neither but it'll do. Listen, I got this dream, it eats me up inside. I've been travelling with this crowd a while," Punk looked sidelong at the raider corpses along the road, "and well…I need to get away. You feel me?"

Ricky did, indeed, feel him. Empathy was one of those skills that Vault-Tec had underestimated and not included in the S.P.E.C.I.A L. scores but Ricky had plenty. Sure, the guy gave off some weird vibes but not bad, just weird. Everyone deserved a chance.

Punk was delighted to hear Ricky offer him a bunk. At first he had tried to charge fifty caps a night but when it became clear that was like asking for a golden deathclaw egg from the guy, he changed tack and asked what Punk could do in return. He had an offer, there was just one caveat. First, Ricky had to help him set up a radio.

So, the guest room gained a new tenant. Ricky fixed up an old ham radio set with ease and then came the second caveat.

"I need this part, see…it'll help me connect with…" Punk looked around conspiratorially, the Collective..."

"A cryptid tracker? Hell no."

"Not just cryptids, man, it'll point us at useful stuff too…you'd get your payment!"

"You'd better not send me to Mothman or I'll give Meg a reason to find _you_ , you got that?"

"Sure, yeah, no…uh..not Mothman. Negative perspiration, man!"

"As long as we understand one another."

Punk nodded nervously at speed, barely surpressing his excitement.Ricky showed him the location on his PIP boy and arranged to meet there later that day. He knew he'd seen a working radio nearby that he could tune up.

* * *   
The radio hadn't been hard to get hold of. He set it up on a table in the guesthouse. It was the little scrap of tech called a 'cryptid tracker' - an odd looking circuit board with valves containing some sort of purple mist - that was the slog. Supermutants with large, heavy weapons had moved into the wrecked mobile home site. It was no cakewalk. Ricky returned with it, down a couple of diluted Stimpaks and having used more ammo than he would have liked. Still, fewer aggressive man-made mutants in the world was not a bad win.

Punk slid up to his side, standing a little too close. The guy suddenly reminded Ricky of Elias and made a mental note to send Punk off to find the brilliant yet crazy Cryptid dude from Vault 76 when he got too much for Ricky to handle. _I'll give him a week,_ thought Gee to himself.

"You got it! Is the valve cracked? No. No! It's perfect! Lemme..give it?"

"What's the magic word?"

"Abra cadavre? No? Oh! Please. Please?"

Ricky handed the thing over, went inside and locked his door. He looked at the back wall where a tarp had been thrown over the powered-down console. He missed Sofia.


	8. Brothers and Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ricky works through his frustration at jumping through the hoops of life that even nuclear war didn't disintegrate as he tries to follow the legend of the Brotherhood of Steel.

"We got us a signal!" Punk whirled around excitedly, thrusting a badly written note into Ricky's hands. He switched off the orange ham radio and stood up suddenly, knocking his chair askew. There wasn't much room in the guesthouse, so Ricky managed to bump into both bed and doorframe in his attempt to avoid the flying chair and the mohawk on springs.

Ricky looked at the scrawled note. "I can't read this grody scrap. Where'm I headed?"

"Oh. Uh…this Blood Eagles camp up on that mountain…" Punk gave an eyebrows-raised, swift head nod as if to say: "you know the one".

Ricky sighed, pulled up his PIP boy map and said, "Just show me, Punk."

The journey there was relatively smooth. The Blood Eagles barely knew what hit them. Honestly, Ricky preferred it that way. Taking life was never something he was flippant about, though neither did he shirk from it when he needed to do it. He got several shots off with his sniper rifle before crouching low to activate his chameleon field, sneaking up to the defensive wall, switching to his two-shot laser pistol and frying the cursing, psychotic, power-armoured harridan.

The hostiles cleared, Ricky made his way up to the raised platform. A settler knelt there, hands bound. It only took a moment for Ricky to cut him free and help him up.

"You okay, man?" Ricky looked closely for signs of head trauma… or playacting. It could be a decoy.

"Did Ward send you? I… thankyou! Ooh..no, I'm alright. We'd better get out of here."

"Sure thing, Clyde."

"Clive. Name's Clive."

Ricky handed the guy a discarded pipe rifle and box of ammo. "Can you get back alright?"

"I can get to my boy's camp, it ain't far. We'll be back at Foundation in no time. Thanks, Vault Dweller.

"Name's Ricky. Stay safe out there, Clive."

The two parted company, Ricky ducking away and keeping watch through his scope until he saw another figure waving the settler home.

* * *  
Several days passed. Every time Ricky went home, Punk blew off his requests for payment with the excuse that there was no radio chatter and thus no jobs. He would constantly talk about Cryptids and conspiracies until one day, Ricky got riled up.

Punk was sat at the campfire, looking dazed. He jumped when Ricky approached the house from that direction, having got close enough to touch. He leaned in as Gee slung his pack on the ground and plonked his tired ass down. "You think those Mothman cultists are onto something, man?" Ricky could smell Pickaxe Pilsner and something else less fragrant on the guy's breath. He clenched his jaw.

"Mothm…"

"Put a _**lid**_ on it, Punk. Pack your shit, oddball. You're gonna find this guy I know. Elias Tompson. You an' he are gonna get on like cooties on a 'possum."

"Where…look, why're you kicking me out, Vaultie?" Punk looked genuinely shocked.

"First off, you don't call _any_ of us 'Vaultie'. You dig?"

Punk nodded vigorously. "Mmm hmm! Dug!"

"As for where, try Flatwoods. Or Grafton. Maybe that landlocked lighhouse up north. Failing that, I hear he hangs out at Crater a lot… just don't ask me where Crazy Cryptid guy's secret H.Q. is. I never was in that club."

Punk's face lit up at that and he rushed off to pack his few things, only pausing to poke his head out and actually ask if he could take the modified ham radio with him.

"Since you asked nicely, yeah. Now put an egg in your shoe and **beat it!** "

* * *  
Checking his PIP boy, Ricky flicked through his to-do list. Davenport had request that he obtain reconnaissance photographs of the Raiders activities. Well, he kept offering the same about the Settlers too and the Overseer couldn't change his programming on that, even though Ricky made the journey to Foundation almost every other day. 

So off he went, snapping a shot of the Raiders poorly farmed fields. Since he was at Crater, Ricky decided to risk facing Meg. He needed to fix up his weapons and trade some junk anyway. 

If she knew about the gang who had held Penny hostage and whom Ricky had sweet-talked with promises of gold, she didn't mention it. Ricky had made sure that they had a treasury note converter and low-level access to some of the funds, but that was it. That Ricky had chosen the services of Paige and his team obviously ranckled her but she was neither surprised nor bothered enough to reprimand him. 

Good. That meant that in Meg's eyes, Ricky was just another unruly, selfish type. It was a mask he was willing to wear for the sake of peace. 

Thankfully, the Gentleman wasn't in, though Ricky suspected that the Insult bot that had found him three times already had been sent by 'Gentleman' Johnny Weston. He was just the type to chip away at a person with words, from a safe distance. Not that Gee felt slighted by the bot in any way. It was just damn funny.

The second photograph needed was at a remote camping spot in the hills. Ricky knew it well as this particular request had been made before. Last time, a Sheepsquatch of all things had backed him into an alcove not fit to be called cave, after running him around the woodland for a good long while. The thing soaked up damage like a sponge; Ricky thought that the hide would make impressive armour and when he finally got it down, thanks to his new gauss pistol, he realised why Sheepsquatch armour wasn't a thing…it was too damn tough to skin properly. All he got were a few quills, some meat and its skull. 

"Static'd probably love that," muttered Ricky, stashing the gruesome thing in his pack.

He crept up the hill toward the camp and heard footsteps…and humming. Whoever it was could hold a tune. He crouched, activating the stealth field. Creeping forwards, he saw a woman, seemingly unarmoured and not visibly armed, sporting a pair of binoculars - no, not greaser slang for spectacles but _actual_ binoculars.

Ricky Gee trusted his gut about people and was rarely mistaken, so he stood and stepped forward, revealing himself.

"What's your tale, nightin'gale?"

The woman looked over. "Well hello, Vaultboy. You peachy?"

"Peachy keen to find out who _you_ are, doll." Ricky's glance slipped to the guitar case on her back. The woman noticed and smiled.

"I'm just another wanderer on the road of life," she said, measuring him up with her gaze. "Hey, as much as I love wandering around, well, often running...or fleeing…do you happen to know somewhere safe I can stay? Maybe work on some music?"

Ricky scratched thoughtfully at his dark beard.

"I'm handy to have around. I've got skills." The woman seemed a laid-back sort, full of quiet confidence. Ricky allowed himself to show a genuine, easy grin. 

"You know what, I got a guest room at my homestead. Stringpluckers welcome."

"Oh, I knew traveling with Paige and the gang would pay off one day! Yes I did."

Ricky held out his right hand, his nails slightly long for plucking strings. "They call me Lucky Ricky, how 'bout you, ma'am?"

"Wanda. Very pleased to make your aquaintance, Lucky."

Wanda handed Ricky her guitar and asked him to set it up at his pad whilst she said goodbye to friends. From one musician to another, Ricky recognised this as a huge token of trust and guessed that she had already known who he was through Paige's description. He noted that the B string was worn. He knew he had a whole new pack of strings in his stash so when he got back, not only did he find her a decent chair to sit on but gave her guitar the best service that he could, new strings, cleaning and waxing the wood, polishing the frets. She was over the moon when she arrived and they dueted around the campfire long into the night.

* * *  
The next week was a nightmare. Following in the Overseer's footsteps, the next stop on the trail was finding Fort Defiance to learn more about this 'Brotherhood of Steel'. The fortress itself turned out to be a repurposed Asylum. A young man huddled in the first room, grieving and despondent. No matter what Ricky said, the man could do nothing but wallow in the loss of his sister. Ricky knew that feeling all too well. He patted him on the shoulder, left food and water by his feet and pushed on. 

A huge metal door on the left was wide open. To the right, a yawning corridor filled with the groans and shufflings of ghouls. Despite his soft footsteps, the ghouls heard and came rushing at him. Ricky was always taken aback by just how fast they could 'goose it', being in your face before you'd finished reloading. 

He dispatched them quickly, though not without effort and the use of a diluted stimpak. He turned to the empty corridor behind him. The gate must have been shut until recently as, aside from a few pests, there was no sign of ghoul infestation. He legged it up a metal staircase and followed a winding corridor, through more double doors that showed evidence of barricading, as did several other passageways.

Finally, he found a level higher up with workbenches and a terminal, plus one of the Overseer's pop-up stash crates. In it, another holotape. She hadn't expected to see any of her Vault family again and had been a little bashful about them when Ricky brought it up, face to face. She had one thing clear though: the Brotherhood, like the Responders and the Free States had failed to survive simply because of division. When they had most needed each other, instead of adapting and uniting, their rigid systems had shattered. 

The terminal stood opposite a laser-grid security door. In order to access the door, the system demanded that you become registered as a Brotherhood soldier. There was a problem, though…

"Gotta be a Private Joe before you can register. Figures. Just gotta find a way to convince this thing I'm the military type."

The thought occurred that there was a military training base near to his homestead, a Camp McClintock. He 'beat feet' over there and instead of finding some poor Private's papers, instead found himself facing robotic drill sergeants holding hoops to jump through. 

The required uniform was ill-fitting and stank of decayed mothballs. That put him off guard, setting off his mottepgobia and throwing his usual calm into disarray. 

The Agility course took him three attempts. He would normally have done it in one. The Patriotism test was easy, though it made Ricky wince. Why did any, positive social action seem to set of the Red alarm? It was something that, being only ten or so, he'd not had much experience of outside the Vault before the Great War. Inside the Vault, people had to work together in a community and Ricky didn't quite understand why communism was considered such a bad thing. His philosophy was that when folks were cool and helped each other out, life was sweet. He was never one to get embroiled in the complex, in-depth and seemingly fruitless discussions that his fellow seventy-sixers seemed to enjoy.

The Marksmanship test was like groundhog day. Ricky had trained for combat using a Vault-tec Assisted Targeting System and had never been skilled at firing from the hip. He was an excellent sniper, though; given time, he could score a bullseye from the other side of the atrium. Close up, his shots became panicked and wild, so he was given training in the shotgun and one-handed melee weapons such as the sword. His technique was a little sloppy and chaotic but it worked.

Here he was, trying to use an unfamiliar weapon (a 10mm pistol, acquired for a high price from the vending machine at a C.A.M.P. nearby) and shoot multiple targets without VATS in under thirty seconds. He must have reset that terminal five or six times before, heart pounding and palms sweating, the computer registered a pass.

The Live Fire test was business as usual, easy peasy Protectron squeezy. The bots went down fast because _that_ was something he'd been doing almost every day, without a timer, in his usual fighting style.

Private Ricky Gee returned to Fort Defiance, having picked up the company of Miss Corette along the way. This time, the doors were sealed firmly shut. The open corridor led them through a nightmarish maze of ghouls, feral,charred, withered, even a Glowing One. Ricky splattered bioluminescent mutated flesh everywhere and threw the breaker. Lights flickered on. They found a quick way down to the metal doors. Ricky pushed the obvious red button and…

Nothing. Jammed. Miss C. had qualifications in electrical engineering and after two hours, managed to find the problem and jerry-rig it. The doors flew open. This time, Ricky found more information. Having an army certificate wasn't enough. He had to get an official, government-issued ID card from the DMV department at the Capitol building.

More hoops. More ghouls. More automated systems to frustratingly navigate. Everything had to be done in exactly the correct order else he had to start all over again. Eventually, exhaustedly (and it showed in his official ID photograph) he got that personalised, official, encoded bit of plastic that would open more doors than he knew.

Back at Fort Defiance, again, he finally registered as a Brotherhood of Steel Initiate and turned those aggressive purple lasers into a passive blue. Upstairs, he learned what they had faced, what they had planned and where they failed. There was one, final grid-guarded door to pass through before he had access to all the Brotherhood's legacy. He just had to find Taggerdy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by some very frustrating glitched gameplay. I approached the DMV too early and tried to do it, partially remembering it from my first run through with Enid. 
> 
> Eventually I managed to kick of the quest line properly but then the door at Fort Defiance was glitched! Switching servers helped fix it when I teamed up with Miss C.'s player.
> 
> As for Boot Camp...argh! Here my own physical disabilities hampered me a bit. I rely heavily on VATS not just for character build reasons. The beating heart and sweaty palms were real! So was the elation and relief of victory. Persevere, folks!


	9. Trail Of Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having finally accessed Fort Defiance, Ricky picks up the trail of one Liz Taggerdy, hoping to find remaining Brotherhood troops or any clue of what went down just prior to the opening of Vault 76.
> 
> What he finds leads him along a dangerous path.

"Well then, here I come, Liz Taggerdy," Ricky declared. After having found so many Responder corpses on these paper trails, he wasn't feeling especially hopeful about finding her alive. _Then again, maybe there **are** small scraps of Brotherhood platoons out there still, holed up and safe. On the other hand, any still alive must be Scorched by now._ He packed up a few bottles of Nuka Vaccinated, just in case.

The first signal led him into The Mire. He stumbled across an old antiques shop with a couple of worse-for-wear antiques shambling about outside.

"Damn. Charred gooners," he muttered to himself. This particular brand of ghoul was both fast _and_ tough. He made sure his chameleon armour was functioning, loaded his sniper rifle and took a few careful shots. Some regular ghouls also ambled out but were quickly disposed of.

The hideous lumps looked around them, confused, so he let off a few more shots. Unfortunately, they were grouped too closely and the remaining charred ghoul spotted his location and peeled out toward him. 

The rifle wasn't going to do the job up close so Ricky fumbled at his holster to pull out whatever came to hand. It was the broken laser pistol. 

The ghoul launched itself at him, crispy bacon-rind skin grazing his cheek, teeth gnashing. With one arm, Gee fended of the teeth, with the other, finally found his shotgun. He kicked the charred ghoul away and pumped three shells into it before it finally fell.

He needed to get inside that building and high up, fast. Ricky glanced around once and legged it into the old antiques store. It was musty and smelled of death, as so much did nowadays. However, poking around the shelves he found a lot of useful junk: plastic spoons, powerful magnets, old tin cans and even an unopened bottle of vintage whiskey. "Score!" he muttered to himself.

Upstairs he found what he had been expecting: the remains of a Brotherhood soldier. Ricky listened to his holotape report glumly, then cannabalised the laser gun he found with the body to fix his own. There was, the tape had said, ammo in a shed outside. Ricky took the hole in the wall for an exit and jumped down onto the roof, sliding down its slope to the ground. He had just reached the shed when he heard both the stirrings of an awakened ghoul and the ominous flap of gigantic wings.

The ghoul he took care of easily with his repaired laser pistol. The circling Scorchbeast he hid from, moving away, crouched, thighs on fire with the continued effort, his chameleon field clicking on and off as he started and stopped, farther and farther away from the 'beast and toward the increasing signal bleep from his PIP-boy.

Eventually, he saw the small dish antenna…and the stomping, grumbling Supermutant before it saw him. One shot cleared Ricky's path. He ascended the metal stairs up the mobile platform , activated the first transponder and listened to the holotape log.

The next signal took him into Watoga, where he was glad that he'd dealt with the resident bots already. A partial suit of power armour stood next to a crashed vertibird outside the AMS building. Again, he activated the transponder, listened to the log and scavenged what parts of the armour he could carry. Again, only bodies remained, poor jarheads. 

Suddenly, there was movement. Ricky crouched instinctively but soon straightened up again when he saw who it was.

"Hey, Static. What's buzzin', cuzzin'?"

The beefier, more scarred, slightly scaly version of Ricky lifted his chin in greeting. "Your PIP-boy, 'pparently." He was always one to state the obvious.

"Yeah. Look, I found these Brotherhood markers. Wanna tag along an' see what they were up to?" Ricky still found Static's presence unnerving but he wasn't going to look a gift-cavalry in the mouth.

"Sure thing." A little arc of (excited?) electricity sparked of him. At least he wasn't farting poisonous disease-gases today.

Unloading junk and armour pieces at the station's secure Vault-Tec stash point, they moved on to the next signal. This one was deeper in The Mire. The two gangbusting greasers crawled in boggy trenches, Ricky grabbing a few diseased cranberries along the way. He'd boil them up later, most every foodstuff was made better by boiling it these days.

The sound of wingbeats increased in proportion to the signal. Survey Camp Alpha came into view, as did the Scorchbeast. Ricky sniped it until it landed, where Static finished it off with a couple of deadly punches.

The transponder activated and log digested, they scooped up scrap and power armour mod plans and moved on.

The fourth was on the roof of a bunker. Of course, that attracted yet another of what the Brotherhood had been calling Sierra Bravos or SB's (which according to Static stood for 'Sons of Bitches'). This one got scared away by the mutated Vaultdweller. The trail finally led to its conclusion…

The Glassed Caverns. Whether the Brotherhood had directed them there or not, Ricky didn't know but a horde of violent Protectrons patrolled the caves. Scorched emerged out of side tunnels and the bodies of huge, scorched beasts littered the more open areas. 

Ricky used up a large portion of ammunition and even Static was panting by the end of it. The Scorchbeast that waited in its lair at the end of the tunnel was quickly dealt with by the two-man team.

Ricky climbed up to where he could see the final dish and in doing so, kicked a semi-solid lump on the floor that turned out to be the remains of poor Liz Taggerdy. He found a holotape in her pocket, wiped off the Scorchbeast guano and tucked it away. Just as he went to switch off the transponder, he heard the dry hiss off Scorched from behind him. They emerged from a small tunnel and ran straight at him. Ricky pulled out his shotgun and dealt damage to all three, finishing off one whilst Static savagely tore the other two apart. Ricky had a fleeting moment wondering how long his Vault cousin could keep these furious, wild outbursts focussed on enemies…and then the nuclear detonation automatic warning system blared out from both his and Static's PIP-boys. 

Ricky pulled out his Power Armour Frame transporter system. Within a minute, the atomic structure of his Excavator suit had unpacked and opened. He stepped in, feeling both protected and uncomfortably confined by the thing.

Down the now unguarded tunnel was a metal platform lift. Ricky waited for Static to join him and then hit the big, red button. The rusty thing creaked into life.

They emerged into chaos. At least six or seven power-armour wearing, heavy weapon-toting figures battled against a large scorchbeast and a horrific variety of scorched creatures. A short distance away, the glowing, dusty edge of a nuclear mushroom cloud. They were right on the doorstep of a nuked zone.

Ricky hefted his Gatling Plasma Cannon and rained green fire upon the scorchbeast and it went down but the ominous flapping did not cease. Another beast drew close and this time, as it took longer to reach them than they'd both estimated, Static and Ricky realised that it was the mother of all mutants: a Scorchbeast Queen. 

The other figures, which judging by the bright green pings on Ricky Gee's PIP-boy were other ex-Vaultdwellers, rallied around, some focussing on the furious, gigantic creature and others on the swarming scorched menagerie.

The battle was a flurry of disorientating swoops, follows and dodges. One of the seven-sixers had set up a survival tent nearby. Ricky ducked in to swap out his plasma core and rehydrate. The "Sierra Bravo" was now grounded, Static was in its face, his humanity firmly put aside as he smashed into it with literally explosive punches, arcing electricity and emitting poisonous vapours off his whole body.

The Queen tried to get airborne again but to no avail. Her minions were falling like ash, her wings flailed and shuddered, then fell heavily to the ground.

A flock of jubilant warriors gathered around. Ricky succumbed to tribal instincts and collected his trophies as the contents of the Queen's opened gut spilled forth; partially digested skeletons with undigested armour, weaponry and and the contents of acid-eroded packs.

If any of the previous inhabitants recognised one another, outside their small teams, this was not the place for reunions. They dispersed as quickly as they had gathered.

Ricky got far enough away from the nukezone, all the way to Watoga before he exited his power armour. He felt a buzz through his entire body, something more than the after effects of a serious burst of adrenaline. Static looked at him sidelong, some of that wild fury still boiling in his eyes, his jaw muscles clenching.

"I'm starving," Ricky said as he dumped his pack out on the floor of the train station, rummaging around for the first edible thing he could lay his hands on. Then the next and the next. He drank three pints of liquid in one go, rivulets of tato soup mingling with the purified water and nuka cola now dripping down his chin.

"Better?" asked Static, a measure of calm having returned. He stared at Ricky. "Better get going."

His once-idol nodded, returning the mess to his pack less carefully than usual but twice as fast. They travelled directly back to the Forest, neither man saying a word to the other.

Back at the Homestead, Static poked around the crops for vermin to eat. Ricky sorted his gains, scrapping and stashing. He felt odd, still. 

Static had been impressed with his battle-frenzy. He presented him with a heavy club made from tough sheepsquatch bone and metal. Ricky was not as disturbed by the grizzly gift as once he might have been. The mutant stared at Ricky, adjusting his sunglasses by way of saying goodbye and leapt away, high over the fence.

Suddenly, Ricky heard guitar music. Wanda had returned. He shed the rest of his excess weight and plonked himself down beside her at the campfire.

"What's eatin' you, Jack?" Wanda looked concerned. 

"Hmm? Eat? Yeah I'm starving."

"No honey, I said what's eating _you_?"

Ricky heard her properly this time. "Sorry Wanda, rough day. I'm just gonna cook up some o' this meat. Fancy a steak?" 

"Sweet of you to ask but I already ate. I'll just sit and play, if that's alright?"

The percussive crackle of the flames under the cooking pot accompanying Wanda's guitar melody was a balm to Ricky's soul.


	10. Hair Trigger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something different about Ricky Gee and he's not keen to know why. An unexpected find brings the past back to bite him...which is not all that tries to make him a snack.

_*Holo Rec. On*. Entry: [date redacted]_

Whitesprings. The place gives me the creeps. On the one hand, it's probably the best kept joint in the whole of Appalachia, thanks to the army of service bots. On the other, there's hordes o' ferals an' worse. You just know they used to be the kind who were fat cats, talkin' shit about each other behind their backs, power hungry suits an' titles without morals. You can tell by the kind o' junk you find in tattered pockets, hands clawed with rigor mortis, crap stickin' out of mouths or newly exposed innards. Gold forks, watches, fancy hairbrushes..huh..and money. Lots o' goddam useless green paper.

The worse part though is that from time to time, some Bad News Billy'll aim a nuke right at the place. It's bad for a while but those things don't stay radded for too long. Must be their cores're faulty or somethin'. I d'know. Still, I didn't wanna walk into a red zone and find all the ferals had started glowin'. Heck, I don't wanna start glowin'…though I'm still feelin' a mite strange after that big S.B. mama fight….

So to the south of the fancy hotel, I found this door that looked like a service entrance. Goin' through, another door but this one protected by one o' them card swiper things an a laser grid. Well, havin' followed the Free Stater Sam Blackwell's trail, I got me a keycard. 

Wouldn't you know it but that led to a vault door. This voice, creepy like, knew I'd been a vault-dweller myself. The PIP-boy an' blue underwear kinda gives _that_ away. Anyway, it said it kinda admired us Dwellers so it let me in. Lucky, I guess.

What I found was chillin'. This was what the Overseer had been tasked to find. _The_ bunker that had been designed for all the top dogs an' fat cats, staffed by bots an' overseen by a creepy-as-wendigo-shit program callin' itself Modus.

So the Big O still thinks it best to get access to the nukes. I'm not so sure. Why in the heck would I wanna set another one off? Did the Scorchbeast Queen get woke up by the blast or made by it? Was she the only one or did she have daughters? Then again, if it makes 'em weak enough to fight then I'd do it. At least we know where they're crawlin out from now an' its far enough away from Foundation as to be…well, safe as it gets, these days. 

So I'm takin' the chance. Doin' what I need to ta get my finger next to the trigger, should I ever need ta pull it. I still don't like it though.

Modus wanted me to work for the Enclave. I'm playin' along for now but I'm not gonna join up for real. I did enough to get access deeper in. I saw a terminal talkin' about mutation serums. Oh man, there was some twisted shit. The early experiments were just…horrific. I can only guess that what they ended up with got into the eco-system somehow, spread around an', maybe, I d'know, gets activated by rads? 

I recognised some of Static's…quirks. They were all there. Then I saw something that made my blood run cold.

'Increased appetite and thirst. Improved running speed. Significantly improved weapon reload times…' the note tapered off there but it was enough for me to know…

I've fuckin' mutated.

_[End of recording]_  
* * *  
Ricky spent the next few days hunting down the worst threats to settlers, taking reconnaisance photos for Davenport but giving them to Foundation so they could keep a closer eye on raider activity. He lied to the Overseer's Handy about it, time after time. What could the robot really want with them, anyway?

The next time he was at Foundation, Ward grabbed his arm. "Fancy helping us out again? You seem to be the only one with the guts round here to do anything about these thefts."

"Sure, what got lifted?"

"Our medical scanner."

"Ain't that a bite. Show me the rough location an' I'll goose it outta here."

Ward tapped it into Ricky's PIP-boy.

"You really oughta chain these things down, Jack," Ricky added with a grin.

* * *  
The old trainyard was sinking into the edge of the Mire. The beeping was getting harshly insistent so he knew he was getting close. 

Ricky swapped his sniper rifle for the double-shot laser pistol, much better for quick fire at close quarters and crept closer to the lopsided metal train cars. The water sloshed around his ankles, distant gunfire and wingbeats just reaching his ears.

_Too far away to worry about, Ricky. Focus._ he thought to himself.

The beacon was very close, now, maybe just the other side of the carriage. He stepped into the open side and saw a body. Not a recent, medical- scanner-concealing body but a skeleton wearing a familiar navy trilby, trimmed with a black band.  
Nearby was a blue folding table with a Bourbon bottle and a wooden box of cigars.

Outside, water lapped unnoticed around soft footsteps...

Ricky looked more closely at the wooden box. Hoja Dulce Lux. Cidro 'The Cigar' Giancola's preferred blend. His hand shaking now, he lifted the trilby from the skull and turned it over. Embroidered on the label, still clear enough to read beneath a few clinging hairs, were the initials C.G.

A sudden horrible, wet shriek and a splash that wet his entire left side made Ricky Gee jump, drop the hat and fire. The snallygaster hissed, somehow highlighting the loud, insistent bleep coming from his PIP-boy. The snally tried to take a bite but simultaneously, the Mysterious Stranger appeared momentarily, distracting it with a two shots whilst Ricky leapt back, firing more red photon needles into its eyeball-ridden hide. It went down, only to reveal a second that had crept around and attached itself briefly to Ricky's arm. He shot it and shook it off, ducking back into the traincar, knocking the skeleton aside. Two more bursts of laser fire and the freak of science went down.

All clear now, Ricky followed the tracer signal through to the other side of the carriage, found the body of the raider, retrieved the precious medical equipment and stashed it securely in his pack.

He turned back towards the dark interior and glared at the bones. Long-buried fury rose in him, the anger and betrayal that he'd felt as a child watching his 'Grandpappy', the mobster boss known as 'The Cigar', do unmentionable things to those poor women. He growled and smashed his foot down hard, time and again, releasing all his rage, pounding the remains of the mobster to tiny, splintering pieces. 

Panting, grounding himself once more, he listened for enemies, hearing nothing. Lucky again.

* * *

Next stop, Crater. He pulled his Assault Gas Mask on to hide his face and stalked up to Rocksy. She had another wayward raider to track down and 'deal with'. Ricky wasn't about to let on that the runaways he found alive were usually keen to leave the raider life behind and give Foundation a try. Ward would have his hands full of converts in no time. 

_I just hope Rocksy don't figure out what I'm doin' here,_ Ricky thought to himself.

He made a stop at Riverside Manor to attach a swing analyser to a sword in order to do some Mistress of Mystery training. He'd thought it was cool and would impress Sofia but the old blade he'd been directed to use was as blunt as Grahm and weighted all wrong. He finished off several creatures with it for the analyser to chew on, using it more like a baseball bat than a sword.

He crossed paths with Static again afterwards, who was giving him sidelong glances as he reloaded in record time to shoot Supermutants in a dried-up lakebed. Ricky could actually keep up with Static, for a change. He finished a greenie with the sword and got a ping off the device. One more target needed.

A whitish radstag bounded across Ricky's path and he brought the dull blade down hard across its back. He sped after it and was just about to bring the ancient blade down when Static bellowed "STOP!"

Ricky froze, mid swing, his breath coming in heavy, panting gasps. The stag cantered off and Static cautiously crept behind, his hand out, murmering soothing noises to the wounded beast. Ricky held back until he saw that the stag had stopped near a grounded boat. Static, one hand out to the beast, beckoned Ricky with his other. He whispered, "These observant radstags'll lead you to treasure." Slowly, cautiously the stag moved off. Gee really wanted to give it Stimpak now but thought that would startle it, so he followed silently, sorely regretting the wounding blow and the yearling he'd slain earlier that hadn't even registered on the analyser, nor yielded enough meat to be worth cooking.

They followed the double-headed stag out of the dry lake and up the mountainside. Finally it came to a rest next to a hollow log. Stuffed inside, wrapped in rags, were some items of armour, a little ammunition and a box of Med-X.

Back down to the lake again to follow the trail he had originally been on, Ricky encountered a Raider leaning nonchalantly against a tree. They had to go past him so Gee stopped to speak to him, thinking perhaps this was a guy looking for a second chance, too.

Instead what he got was bile, insults and threats. The only thought in Ricky's head, suddenly, was to prevent the scumbag from hurting the settlers. 

Ricky growled, "Come on snake, let's rattle!" Before he could think further, the blunt blade was pounding the life out of the reprobate, his teeth bared, the strikes swift and deadly.

The broken, bloodied body sank to the ground. All Static did was smirk, raise his eyebrows and nod his head.

Ricky staggered back. _Fuck,_ he thought. He ran his fingers through his precious pompadour , messing it up. "FUCK!" he shouted out loud.

Static dryly said, "He was achin' for a breakin'. Don't sweat it, Racket."

But Ricky _was_ 'sweating it'. He'd just murdered a man for nothing more than being verbally threatened. "I didn't have to go ape on 'im, Static." To himself, he added, _I'm better than this._

The mutant just gave him a toothy grin in response that made Ricky glad his copycat cousin had eaten not long ago.

After a while, travelling back towards Homestead, Static fired some brief questions at him, out of the blue:

"Hungrier than usual?"

"Yeah. All the time."

"Thirsty?"

"You offerin'? I could use a drink."

"Runnin' faster?" Static tossed Ricky a beer.

He caught it. "Yeah…why d'you ask?" Ricky knew exactly what it was.

"Heh. Welcome to the club."

* * *  
Static parted ways before they reached the Creamery so Ricky rocked up by himself.

Sofia was singing along to the radio as Gee unlocked and entered his home.

"Ricky! I was wondering when you'd get back! I've been..watch it!"

Ricky had almost knocked a box of scrap off the top of a workbench but caught it with lightning reflexes.

"Whoah, nice catch! Hey, flutterbum, why don't.."

"Not NOW, Sofia. Let me alone," he snapped and stormed off into the kitchen. A few moments later, Sofia peeked around the doorway to see Ricky chopping steak. 

"What's rattled your cage, hon? I'm worried." Sofia waited whilst he finished a cut, put down the knife and sighed. He turned to his love, his eyes watery and scared.

"I'm a freak."


	11. Out of Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ricky has important things on his mind but now he has opened the golden vault, his purpose has become blurred...until at least one thing he needs to do becomes crystal clear.

Sofia padded up softly and slowly behind him, maintaining a steady gaze, as if approaching a wild animal. One hand touched his upper arm and slid slowly down until she could wrap her hand around the knife he was shakily holding and wrest it from his grip.

"Ricky…" she whispered, laying the huge kitchen knife aside. "Let's get these steaks in the icebox. They can wait."

He did as she suggested, eyes misted with the threat of tears, washed his hands and leaned back against the wooden wall.

"Come on, soldier, let's get you sitting down, okay? Then I can run a mediscanner over you." Sofia's concern showed in her eyes, behind her black-rimmed glasses.

Ricky numbly pushed off from the wall to go through to the main workroom and collapsed into the blue sofa by the console. Sofia produced the medical scanner from the bureau and ran it over him methodically.

Ricky just sat there, slightly shivering. His mind was stuck in the same thoughts, over and over. _"I'm a mutant. Hungry. Gonna copycat Static, the scary freak. I'm a scary freak. Thirsty. I'm a freak. A hungry freak. Need a drink..Sofia's gonna freak out. Hungry. Am I hungry enough to eat bodies like Static? Gahd I hope not._

Sofia was busy attaching a pull-out cable from the scanner to the standing terminal, which itself had been modified with connections running to the console. "Hang on, Ricky, just getting the readout. Man this thing is slow… can I get you some water?"

Ricky could only manage a nod but his stomach rumbled like thunder to make its needs known. Sofia returned from the kitchen with a glass of purified water and a pumpkin pie. She cut a small slice for herself and offered the rest to him.

Ricky had to force himself to use his tablemanners, like he'd had to when he first joined the Vault as an eleven year old kid. He'd been used to the people around him grabbing food off his plate to 'teach' him to be guarded, even his hussie of a mom. His foster-folks, Jonny and Cindy had to spend years helping him to unlearn so many habits based in fear, including wolfing down his food. Right now, though, his belly being a demanding pit, that urge was hard to suppress.

The terminal beeped its readiness. "Alright, let's seeee…." Sofia read the data quickly and thoroughly, her sharp mind untangling jargon and percentages and chemical levels. She turned the bureau chair around to sit facing Ricky.

"Oh love," she exclaimed. "Okay, this data isn't very detailed but it does tell me that your chemical homeostasis...balanace...has changed. Your muscles are quicker to react to nerve impulses at the cost of needing more fuel. That's why you're so hungry and thirsty. You're moving quicker, right?"

"Yeah, yeah I…I'm runnin' faster, reloadin' faster…" Ricky Gee was impressed by just how smart Sofia was. Well, astronauts _had_ to be.

"Thought so. Okay, your levels are in flux…I mean, I think your body's trying to adapt to the…the mutation and it's showing signs of trying to regulate itself. You're fit, healthy…what I'm saying, hero is that if this settles in the next few days, you've got yourself a superpower!" Sofia's face lit up with uncertain excitement.

Ricky could barely think past his empty plate. "And if doesn't settle?"

"Right. Worst case scenario….you can't meet its energy needs and you starve…but love, I don't think that's going to happen. I'm just gonna have to start serving you bigger portions, is all!" Sofia gave a lighthearted smile but it was shadowed with concern. "Why…um..why don't you talk to your cousin?"

"He's not my blood relative, y'know, just some kid who attached himself to me in the vault.…and he eats carrion."

"Eurgh! Gross! Really? Super grody!" Sofia stood and went to a window for some fresh air. "Well, um…you'd better go put those steaks on."

* * *

The following few days blurred into one another, taking reconnaisance photos, retrieving equipment, helping settlers defend their claimed buildings from everthing from giant ants to scorched to roving, malfunctioning protectrons. _Destructrons, more like,_ Ricky thought.

He noticed, day by day that his hunger and thirst grew less fierce until it was almost back to normal, whilst he got used to being a speed demon. It certainly made the miles fly by and the battles a little easier.

The modest farm was looking good. Crops grew well, Moo-Maw the brahmin only kicked him sometimes when he tried to milk her. Sofia was better at it and told him not to sneak up on the poor beast as it startled her. Or them. Ricky was never sure which. One thing was certain, two heads ate faster than one. It was a good job Sofia was able to cram 'make hay' into the collectron's programme, though it only seemed to work on sunny days…

Now and then, other ex-Vault-Dwellers stopped by to trade or use the vending machine, though often, Ricky only recognised the PIP-boys on their wrists. The wasteland certainly changed people.

"Hey Lucky," shouted Sofia from the doorway. "I got another ping. Interested?"

"Anything for you, doll."

* * *  
Ricky fixed up his armour and weapons and headed north. Davenport was asking for yet more reconnaisance images. Ricky had joked with Sofia about starting a photography club. Meg seemed to enjoy posing for the shot which Ricky would later have to lie and say that it 'didn't develop'. He always felt almost sorry for the raiders, looking at their arid, empty crop fields.

Walking cautiously over the white, poisonous powder-dusted hill, Ricky picked off two hostile Handies. Further on, through his scope, he saw a green, lizardlike tail. It startled him until he realised it wasn't moving and was actually a giant, fibreglass crocollosus.

*******  
Toxic Valley. Without some kind of breathing filter, the place smelled of unwashed feet and expired eggs. Heck, there was a hint of the stench _with_ one.

He cleared out a few scorched and poked around the office, reading old terminal entries out of sheer curiosity. He remembered pestering his mother to visit this place but after having read various entries, was glad he she'd never complied. 

Ricky happened upon a distraught Miss Nanny and remembered one of the terminal entries. He was twenty-six years too late to find the kid. If he wasn't dead, ghoulified or scorched, he'd be…about Ricky's age. That thought sent a shiver down his spine and he decided to open the cold case. It's what the Silver Shroud would have done.

He followed the trail quite a way but then, after fighting his way through ferals and wendigos, supermutants and robots, he began to wonder what his purpose was now that he had opened Vault 79? Every time he defeated a particularly threatening opponent, Modus noticed. It felt like he was being watched, all the time. What had begun as a clear Vault-Tec directive was now a tangled and confusing path. On the one hand, the Overseer had regretted telling the seventy-sixers to get the nuke codes. On the other, she was not actively discouraging it after seeing how effective it was at drawing the Scorchbeasts out of their cavernous fissures, weakening them…though Ricky wondered if all the nuking wasn't just making more of the cursed things.

_Are we using Modus, or is it using us…me?_ he mused, as the automated voice told him that he had achieved a Commendation. 'General Gee' sounded good, it just wasn't _**him**_.

Ricky ran more errands for Foundation and met a Settler near Slocum's Joe who complemented Ricky on what he'd done for the fledgeling city.

"Well, thankyou but it ain't just what _I_ done. There's quite a few of us out here rootin' for a decent reclamation. Foundation's aptly named."

"It's strange what you found in that vault," she commented, straightening her back from chopping wood and wiping her blistering hands on faded dungarees.

"Ain't it just? Though, believe me doll, there's stranger things in these mountains. Hey, can I buy a bundle o' firewood?"

"Sure! I cut too much, anyway."

Ricky spent the night in an old shack. He almost slipped on squashed radroach, going to the john in the middle of the night. The next morning, he met a jolly scavenger wearing those ridiculous bottlecap shades.

"Hey! How're you doin'? Do you happen to have a camera?" asked the balding man.

"Happen I do. I ain't sellin' it, though," Ricky replied.

"Oh, no, no…I just need a picture to send to my daughter! Could you take one?"

"Uhh…I'd have to use a fresh roll o' film an' you'd have to develop it yourself…"

"Oh, sure! I have caps. So…just here look good?"

The man gave an enthusiastic grin and posed. Ricky took several shots. The weather was fine and the scenery was pretty, plus it made a nice change from shooting a gun. He was becoming a fair photographer, too. They exchanged film for caps and the man happily went on his way.

That evening, Ricky was climbing up a darkening hillside when he heard familiar music. He deliberately kicked some scree to announce his presence. The music stopped.

"Hey, Wanda," he said, loud enough for her to hear but softly enough as not to disturb any undesirables nearby. "You finished your tune?"

"Well if it ain't the lucky golden boy! Pull up a log and share a campfire," Wanda smiled.

Ricky gratefully sat, pulling out two bottles from his backpack and offering one. 

"Thankyou, darlin'. No, my little melody is still skippin' around my head and hasn't decided quite where to settle just yet. Say, why don't you play somethin', music man?"

Never one to turn down a chance to play, Ricky took Wanda's guitar respectfully. He tried a few chords, then settled on something he was writing for Sofia. 

The gentle country-rock ballad had Wanda tapping her feet and smiling. Ricky kept the lyrics to himself, they were unfinished and only for Sofia. As he played, he thought of her, his very own Mistress of Mystery and suddenly knew where he had to go in the morning. Riverside Manor.

"That was…a slice o' mountain heaven, sugar. I stopped by your homestead not two days ago. Y'ought to get back, she misses you. She needs you, charmer."

'I need her too, cat." Ricky laid out his sleeping roll and went to sleep.

The next day, he made a bee-line for Riverside Manor. In Shannon Rivers' office, he found what he was looking for. Something special, something personal. An official 'Mister of Mystery now, Ricky wondered what the actress-turned-vigilante would have thought of him. He secretly hoped that she might have been proud.

* * *   
The clouds over New Red River Gorge were fluffy and pink. Ricky dragged himself up the hill, his feet aching, belly rumbling and eyes begging for sleep. They could wait. This couldn't, not any longer.

He rubbed his thumb over the smooth surface of the object in his pocket, smiling to himself and walked up the metal stairs to his front door. He unlocked it, dumped his junk-heavy pack on the floor and put his weapons safely on their stands.

He could hear Sofia upstairs, in the parlour, singing along to the radio. He shed his travel-stained coat and armour, washed his hands and padded upstairs. Sofia jumped and almost pulled a gun.

"Whoa, Spacekitten, it"s me!"

"Oh, Ricky, gosh I'm sorry! Maybe shouldn't have the radio on so loud, huh, even in our locked house…"

"Heh, not if you're on your lonesome, no doll."

Sofia approached him, putting a hand on his bearded cheek. "I'm so glad you're here."

He kissed her palm."Sorry it took so long. Um…wait a mo, I need my guitar." He disappeared into the bedroom and returned with his beloved instrument. Sitting on the chair by the bureau, he said, "I wrote you a song."

Sofia blushed, smiled and settled onto the sofa to listen. Ricky sang from his heart, about where he'd been and how he found her. He sang about how she had filled his heart with stars and brought him down to Earth. How she was his home.

The gentle rock and roll country ballad drew to a slow close. Sofia's eyes sparkled. Ricky laid down his guitar, knelt down on one knee and drew something out his jacket, opening his hand to reveal a sparkling red jewel with a golden snake hugging its edge. The Eye of Ra.

"Commander Sofia DaGuerre, um" he took a deep breath, "…wanna get circled, doll?"


	12. Placeholder for Last Chapter

[Feel free to carry on Ricky's story by continuing to Hangovers 3, which is the beginning of a new phase of his life. I'm writing this chapter based on my Fallout 76 gameplay which I am still progressing toward the inevitable Scorchbeast Queen...]


End file.
